Pip : A Romance of Youth

  CHAPTER X

  AN ANCIENT GAME

  I

  SOMEWHERE on the east coast of Scotland lie the famous Links of Eric.The district has not changed much, to all seeming, during the lastthousand years--or ten thousand, for that matter. Then, as now, thelinks were a sandy waste, a wilderness of whin, sand, and bent, the homeof countless scuttling rabbits and plaintive peewits. Later, perhaps,when William the Conqueror was creating a disturbance in the southernparts of remote England, a tiny fishing town began to grow up round thelittle harbour reluctantly yielded by the tall red cliffs to the eternalindustry of the ocean, and the adjoining strip of low-lying sand-dunesacquired the title that it now bears, derived, it is said, from the nameof the Norse king who once landed on this, the only piece of accessibleshore for miles, and was there slain, after a bloody battle with theneighbouring lord and his retainers. The town itself will have none ofthese barbaric titles, but exists smugly and contentedly as Port Allan.

  But it was through her little-valued links that Port Allan achievedfame. Two hundred years ago a new minister came from St. Andrew's, andintroduced the men of Port Allan to a game called Golf. They took to itin their deliberate, methodical fashion, and laid out a little course onthe hitherto neglected Links of Eric. Thither they repaired on finesummer evenings, carrying queer long-nosed wooden clubs andfeather-stuffed balls. The golfing minister went the way of all flesh,and his compeers with him, but the golf endured. Generations ofslow-moving fisher-folk, ecclesiastical luminaries, and holiday-makingscholars--for the fame of the links brought visitors from so great adistance as a hundred miles--all played round the links in their day,recking nothing of Medal Scores, Colonel Bogey, the Schenectady putter,or other modern excrescences. They used their long-nosed wooden clubs tosome purpose, and though they did not drive the feather-stuffed ballvery far they drove it very straight. Once the great Allan Robertsonvisited Port Allan. He pronounced favourably on the course, and a wordfrom Allan Robertson in those days was as good as a descriptive articlein "Golf Illustrated" in these. And so for many years the Links of Ericgrew steadily in favour with golfers.

  But one day--one momentous day--the men of England came to theconclusion that golf was the one and only game worth playing, andScotland the one and only place to play it in. Accordingly, with thatspontaneous readiness to suit the action to the word that has ever beenthe characteristic of an Empire-making race, they migrated with theirwives and families across the Border, and proceeded to hew divots fromthe face of Scotland with an eagerness and _bonhomie_ which was equalledonly by the unanimity with which they forbore to replace them. Golf,which had existed for centuries as a sort of religious ceremony, to becultivated by its votaries in reverent silence and at a strictlyprocessional pace, suddenly became a species of bank-holiday picnic; andthose ancient and highly respectable burghs which fostered the game inespecial purity were converted into rather _recherche_ editions ofHampstead Heath.

  However unpleasant this foray might be for the Scottish golfer, itpresented certain compensating features to the Scottish railways andhotel-proprietors. Of remote villages, which had formerly figured in thetraffic returns as occasional yielders of a truck-load of fish, therenow appeared highly-tinted pictures, with the Company's name at the topand a list of trains at the bottom. The hotel proprietors, on theirpart, quickly realising that to the average Englishman a golf-courseconsists of any tract of land in Scotland plentifully endowed withrabbit-holes, hastily staked out a claim on the nearest collection ofsand-hills, and advertised to all and sundry that visitors to theirhotel would be permitted, for a consideration, to play golf over thecelebrated links of so-and-so, "adjoining the hotel."

  Port Allan was one of the places which benefited by reason of the boom.The nearest railway station was seven miles away, but the Companyquickly remedied that defect, and advertised through bookings fromKing's Cross. A special time-table was published, decorated at the topwith a coloured view of the Links of Eric, in the foreground of which agolf-match was in progress between a gentleman in a sky-blue Norfolksuit and a red cap, and a lady in a red dress and a sky-blue hat. Thelady was depicted in the act of driving off from the tee (with a blueputter); while the gentleman, rather ungallantly, had gone forward a fewyards, and was engaged in playing out of the first bunker (with a redbrassie).

  The inhabitants of Port Allan soon realised that to play golf over theirown links in summer was out of the question. They accordingly acceptedthe situation, and, relegating their own golfing efforts to the autumn,turned to the equally congenial task of spoiling the Egyptians. Elderlyseafaring men, who had hitherto extracted a precarious livelihood fromthe grudging ocean, abandoned their nets and took to carrying clubs, thefee of eighteenpence per round which they were permitted to charge beinginclusive of a vast amount of caustic criticism, and priceless, ifunintelligible, advice.

  Behold, then, the Links of Eric one fine morning in early August.Observe the throng of golfers, male and female, young and old. Here youmay see Youth, full of slashing drives and strange oaths, and Age, knownfor his sage counsel and long putts. Here is a schoolboy, with bareknees and head, and a supple swing that makes middle-aged golferswriggle with envy. Here is a "golfing minister." His clubs areold-fashioned and his ball has been repainted; you will outdrive himover and over again, but unless you have at least a stroke in hand whenit comes to approaching and putting, he will beat you. Those two menover there, playing in their shirt-sleeves, are Americans, of course.They are playing very keenly, but they are thinking, not of the game,but of some entirely new and original way of winning it. The fatgentleman is an Englishman. He originally took up golf by his doctor'sorders, but by this time is badly bitten. He wears a red coat, adornedwith the buttons of the Toadley-in-the-Hole Golf Club, and ekes out hiswant of skill by the help of patent clubs, an india-rubber tee,--yegods!--and a wealth of technical phraseology. The couple in the middleof the course, with a highly profane throng waiting behind them, are ahoneymoon, and as such ought not to be there at all. Their balls lieside by side in a rabbit-scrape; and they are disputing, not as to theright club to use, but whether Pussy can possibly love Sweetie more thanSweetie loves Pussy. Ah! an irascible couple have driven into them!Sweetie, at once putting a protecting arm round Pussy, turns and glaresat them wrathfully, but Pussy, looking distinctly relieved, picks upboth balls and impels her newly acquired lord over an adjacent sand-hillto a secluded spot that she knows of, where they can sit in peace tilllunch-time.

  But besides these anomalies and curiosities--common objects of allgolf-links in summer--there are some real golfers to be seen. Here aretwo young men worth watching. Number One is addressing his ball for anapproach shot. It will have to be a cunning stroke, for there is ayawning bunker in front of the green and a thick patch of whin beyondit. If he attempts to run the ball up, the bunker will catch it, and ifhe plays to carry the bunker, the chances are that he will overrun thegreen and find himself in the whins. He plays a fine lofted ball, whichdrops on to the hard green six yards from the pin, and then, with thatmarvellous back-spin which only a master-hand can impart, gives acurious staggering rebound, and after trickling forward for a few yardslies almost dead.

  "Good shot!" remarks Number Two, and turns to play his own ball. It islying very badly in some bents, half buried in sand. Number Two--he is aleft-hander--rejects the proffered niblick and selects a ponderousdriving-mashie. Then, with an opening of the shoulders and an upwardlift that betray the cricketer in every movement, he gives a mightyslog, and propels a confused cloud of sand, bents, and ball into thebunker guarding the green sixty yards away.

  "Too good that time, Pip," remarks his companion.

  "Didn't think I could get so far," replied Pip. "However, I get a strokefrom you this hole, so wait a bit."

  He descended into the bunker, but the ball was reposing in a heel-mark,and it required two even of Pip's earth-compelling niblick shots toremove it. Col
quhoun, plus one at St. Andrew's, consequently took thehole in four.

  Pip was staying at the Station Hotel, by himself. The motive which hadbrought him to a distant part of Scotland, to play a game at which hewas far from being first-class, will appear in due course. Sufficientto say that it was a strong motive, and an exceedingly ancient one,--amotive which has brought about even more surprising events than theabandonment of first-class cricket, on the eve of a Test Match, by thefinest amateur bowler in England.

  They finished their match half an hour later, Pip, who was in receipt ofa half, being one down. As they turned to leave the last green Pip foundhimself confronted by a large man in a Panama hat.

  "Pip!" cried the stranger--"Pip! Bless my soul! What the blazes are youdoing in Scotland in August?"

  "Hallo, Raven," replied Pip. "Fancy meeting you, old man!"

  They turned and walked up the road together.

  "Why aren't you playing for the County?" inquired Pip severely.

  "Missis," replied Raven Innes laconically. Then he added,--

  "Said we must go away for August on account of the kiddies. I'm taking aholiday from cricket in consequence: golf isn't a bad substitute. Butwhat are you doing here, young man? Aren't you about due at Old Traffordfor the Test Match?"

  "No," replied Pip, beginning to fill his pipe; "I'm not."

  Innes stopped short in his walk.

  "You don't mean to tell me," he said, "that they have been such fools--"

  "It's not that," said Pip.

  "Oh! So you're chosen all right, then?"

  "Yes, I'm chosen, but I'm not going to play."

  "Great Caesar! Why?"

  "Well, I'm a bit stale, and I'm rather off cricket, and--and I want toplay golf."

  Now Raven Innes was a man of the world. Moreover, he was a marriedman,--married to a young and pretty wife,--and married men know thingsthat are not revealed to the ordinary unobservant bachelor. Constantfemale society sharpens their wits. A woman has only one explanation forall male eccentricities, and Raven Innes had been married long enough toknow that in nine cases out of ten this explanation is the correct one.He therefore pursued the conversation on the lines which he felt surewould have been adopted by Mrs. Raven had she been present.

  "We have taken a cottage down the road--'Knocknaha,' it's called--so youmust come and look us up. No time like the present, so come along now.By the way, my little sister is staying with us--Elsie. Have you seenher yet?"

  The diplomat cocked an inquiring eye in the direction of his victim.Personally he had never noticed anything unusual in Pip's relationswith Elsie, but in matters of this kind Raven was guided entirely by hiswife, and as that female Hawkshaw, whose feminine instincts wereinfallible in these cases, had long since informed him that there wassomething in the wind, he was now embarking upon this elephantine effortof cross-examination.

  "No, really?" said Pip, who was lighting his pipe at the moment. "No, Ihaven't seen her yet."

  He threw away the match and walked on, his features as immobile asusual. But his old weakness betrayed him, and he turned a dusky red.

  Raven Innes noted this portent, chuckled, and inwardly dug himself inthe ribs, as we all do when we find that our natural acumen hasunearthed a savoury secret.

  Nearly a year had passed since Pip returned from "abroad," once more totake his place among his friends and in first-class cricket. During thattime he had met Elsie only once--at Pipette's wedding; but he hadgathered then, by dint of some artful cross-examination, that she wouldprobably be the guest of the Ravens at Port Allan during August. HadRaven Innes realised that their chance meeting on the links that morninghad been the result of a fortnight's planning, waiting, and scheming onthe part of the enigmatical young man beside him; that the said youngman had abandoned first-class cricket in the height of the season, andtaken the precaution of arriving at Port Allan a full week before heknew Elsie was due there, in order to avoid all appearance of havingfollowed her, and had even endeavoured to give a casual appearance totheir prospective and greatly desired meeting by withholding hispresence for another three days,--Raven Innes would have realised that asuperficial blush may conceal a greater depth of guile than the ordinarymale intellect can fathom.

  II

  There are many kinds of golfer, and there are many kinds of girl, butthere are only two kinds of girl with whom it is possible to play golf.One is the beginner and the other is the expert.

  The beginner is wholly irresponsible. Let us imagine that she is takenout in a "mixed" foursome. She refers to her clubs as "sticks," or even"poles." She declines the services of a caddie, with a little scream ofapprehension at the very idea of such publicity. For the same reason sherefuses to drive her ball from the tee if any one is "looking." Indeed,she has been known to implore her partner to turn even his sympatheticback during that performance. This excessive shyness is maintained allthe way to the first hole, and, unless carefully watched, she willarrive at the green, ball in hand, having been unable to endure thecritical gaze of two men at least a hundred and fifty yards away, whoshe feels convinced are laughing at her.

  Presently she feels more comfortable. A long drive by her partnerelicits a little shriek of astonished admiration, which flatters hismanly vanity, and goes far to mitigate the handicap of her assistance.She at once begins to imitate his stance and swing, straddles well overthe ball, shuts both eyes, gives a mighty swipe, and usually falls down,the necessity of "tackety shoon" being as yet unrevealed to her. On shegoes, perfectly at her ease now, though a little hot and flustered,babbling incessantly during the stroke, regardless of the sinisterfrowns of the man who is endeavouring to play it. Should she miss theball altogether, she is moved to unnecessary mirth; should she by anychance hit it out of sight, say over a sand-hill, she scampers up theslope after it at a run, and announces its discovery at the top of hervoice, upsetting the nerves of all the old gentlemen within earshot. Onthe green her actions are as characteristic as ever. In running the ballup to the hole she either hits the ground behind it and sends it sixinches, or plays a shot which necessitates the departure of herlong-suffering partner, niblick in hand and scarlet in the face, to anadjacent bunker. Short putts she invariably holes out by an ingeniousand unblushing push-stroke, which no one has the heart to question orthe courage to criticise. So the game proceeds. It is not golf, but thenyou never expected it to be. It is another game, even older, and evenbetter.

  After a few such rounds as this the dread seriousness of the gamedescends upon her, and she loses some of her charm. She never speaks,for she knows now that there is a rule on the subject. Her irresponsiblegaiety is gone; she is actually nervous; and after missing an easystroke (which she does quite as frequently as before), she lookspiteously at her partner, and even sighs enviously as the lady on theother side, whom she has hitherto regarded as a mere example of howclothes should not be worn, plays a perfect approach out of a bad lie.In short, she has reverted to the status of the ordinary duffer, and assuch she ceases to be anything but a common nuisance--unless, of course,sir, you take a special interest in her, in which case you will find herquite as attractive, and infinitely less exhausting, over a quiet gameof croquet or spilikins.

  But when--or rather if--she attains to the degree of a real golfer; ifshe can drive off before a crowd without giggling or blushing, and canbe trusted not to shut her eyes when taking a full swing,--then she isindeed a pearl of price, for she is now a congenial companion, from thegolfing as well as the other point of view. She is neither childishlyfrivolous nor grimly determined. She looks upon golf neither as aglorified form of croquet nor as woman's one mission in life. Behold heras she walks across the links to begin her morning round. She calls upher favourite caddie with a little nod of her head, and gives you acheery good-morning when she finds you waiting at the first tee. (Apretty girl-golfer is about as nearly perfect as a woman can be, buteven that cannot make her punctual.) She is neatly turned out: she hasabandoned kid boots with hig
h heels, and wears trim shoes with plenty ofnails in them. Her head is usually bare, or perhaps she wears amotor-veil tied under her chin; at any rate, the unstable edifice offormer days no longer flaps in the breeze and obscures her vision. Sheis independent too. She does not take the first club the caddie offers:she chooses her own, and rates the boy for not having cleaned it better.No longer does she put her ball in her pocket for fear of keeping backthe green; on the contrary, she drives repeatedly (and I am afraidpurposely) into a steady-going foursome in front. It is useless toremind her of a by-law which says that ladies must invariably give wayto gentlemen and allow them to pass.

  "Real gentlemen," she remarks, "would invariably give way to ladies andallow _them_ to pass." And her iron-shot bumps past the head of anoctogenarian who is trying to hole out a long putt on the distant green.

  To look at her now you would never guess that she was once a shrinking_debutante_, a hewer of turf, and a drawer of water from the eyes of thegreen-keeper. Her putting is still erratic, and she is rather helplessin heavy sand; but, given a clean lie and a fair stance, she will handleher light clubs to some purpose, and her swing is a "sicht for saireen." If you are at all off your game she will beat you; therefore it isadvisable to offer her points before beginning the match, not so muchbecause she needs them as to preserve your masculine self-respect in theevent of a "regrettable incident."

  Miss Elsie Innes combined all the virtues of the girl-golfer in her owngraceful young body. Though she had "filled out" considerably since welast saw her, she was anything but a hobnailed, masculine woman. She wasneither heavily built nor muscular; she looked almost too fragile toplay at all. But she handled her light clubs with a suppleness anddexterity usually given only to a schoolboy of fourteen, and the lengthof her drive was amazing. She was always graceful, always cool, and, asPip once noted to himself, "never got either hot or hairy."

  After their first meeting at Raven's cottage Pip and Elsie saw eachother constantly. They played a round of golf every day, usually betweentea and dinner, the hour when the ardent male golfer relaxes from hisnoonday strenuousness and turns to thoughts of mixed foursomes. UsuallyPip and Elsie played Mr. and Mrs. Raven. Raven was a far better golferthan Pip, but then Elsie was very much the superior of Mrs. Raven, whichmade matters even. Many were the battles that raged between the twocouples. At first victory favoured the married pair. Raven, besidesbeing a scratch golfer, was a good general, and his unruffled coolnessand unerring advice made the most of his wife's limited powers. Pip andElsie, on the other hand, did not "combine" well. Elsie, who (strictlybetween ourselves) fancied her golf not a little, insisted on dictatingthe line of action to be followed on each occasion, and more than oncetold Pip what club to use. Pip, though relatively her inferior, declinedat first to be trampled upon by a female, even a high-spirited goddesswith fair hair and a swing like an archangel. But few men in Pip'scondition argue the point long: after a brief struggle to assert thepredominance of man he subsided completely, and, as he thought, ratherdiplomatically. There he was wrong. The sage of antiquity who composedthe uncomplimentary proverb about "a woman, a dog, and a walnut tree"knew something of life, and the course of Pip's true love might have runa good deal smoother if he had put down his masculine foot a little morefrequently. However, there is no doubt that after his capitulation theirgolfing efforts reached a higher level than before. After a series ofmatches extending over a week, each side stood with three games to itscredit, Pip and Elsie just managing to draw level by winning a match onthe last green on Saturday evening.

  Sunday golf is not encouraged in Scotland. Consequently next morningElsie accompanied her relatives to one of the numerous places of worshipin Port Allan, which ancient township possessed its full complement ofAuld Licht, Established, United, and Wee Free kirks, and other homes ofreligious controversy. Pip stayed on the hotel veranda and smoked,watching them pass but lacking nerve to join them. He summoned upsufficient courage, however, to put in an appearance at Knocknaha duringthe afternoon. He was even more silent than usual, though he made ahearty tea.

  After that meal he invited Elsie to come for a walk with him. Sheconsented, and they set off together, followed by the amused glances ofMr. and Mrs. Raven.

  It was a glorious August afternoon. The North Sea, blue and placid,lapped gently against the red cliffs, or ran with a slow hiss up theslope of yellow sand which bordered the Links of Eric. There was hardlyany wind--just enough, in fact, to keep the air clear; and Pip andElsie, as they lounged luxuriously in a hollow at the top of asand-hill,--their walk had been strictly limited to a Sabbath day'sjourney,--could see the smoke of a steam-trawler on the horizon thoughthey could not see the ship herself.

  "This is nice," murmured Elsie luxuriantly, as she arranged her hollandskirt to cover up as much of her tan boots as possible--her Sunday frockhad found its way back to her wardrobe soon after church. "Sunday reallydoes feel like a day of rest if one plays golf all the week."

  "Talking of golf," said Pip, "you haven't played me yet."

  "I've played with you all the week," replied Elsie.

  "With me, not against me," said Pip.

  "Oh, I see. All right; I'll play with Raven to-morrow against you andEthel. We shall beat you horribly, though."

  Elsie was in a very perverse mood.

  "Yes, but I want a single--a match," explained Pip.

  "Oh!" said Elsie.

  There was a pause. Pip lit his pipe, which had somehow gone out, andcontinued,--

  "Shall we say to-morrow morning?"

  "Afraid not," said Elsie. "I rather think I promised to play one of themen in the hotel."

  This was not strictly true, but Elsie was in a curious frame of mindthat evening. There was no reason why she should not have played Pip hismatch, nor was she particularly averse to doing so. But some flash offeminine intuition, infallible as ever, was unconsciously keeping her inthe defensive attitude natural to women in such cases.

  "Is it Anstruther?" inquired Pip.

  "Yes," said Elsie rashly.

  "In that case your match is off, for he has had a wire, and must goto-morrow morning."

  "It's not Mr. Anstruther," said Elsie. "I had forgotten he was goingaway." (This was strictly true.)

  "Is it Gaythorne?" asked Pip.

  Elsie regarded him covertly, through conveniently long lashes. Shesuspected another trap.

  "No," she said at last.

  "That's queer," remarked Pip meditatively. "He was saying only lastnight that he expected to play you to-morrow morning."

  Elsie, who had fallen into the not uncommon error of underrating heradversary, was for the moment quite flabbergasted by this bold stroke.Then, quickly noting the joint in her opponent's harness, she interposedswiftly,--

  "Why did you ask me to play with _you_, then?"

  "I didn't think you ought to play with him," said Pip coolly. "He's anutter outsider."

  "I shall play with whom I like," said Elsie hotly.

  "All right," said Pip; "I'll tell him. What time do you want him to bedown at the tee?"

  Elsie, though not inexperienced in the management of young men, fairlygasped for breath. This slow-speaking, serious youth would, unless shecould speedily extricate herself, either compel her to acknowledgeherself defeated or else force her into an unpremeditated golf-matchwith a comparative stranger.

  "I--I tell you I don't want to play with Mr. Gaythorne," she said.

  "Oh, sorry!" replied Pip; "I thought you said you did. Very well, I'lltell him not to come, and you can play me instead."

  Now, it is obviously unwise to continue to assert to a second party thatyou have a previous engagement with a third party when you have not,especially when your knowledge is shared by the second party. So Elsiedid the only possible thing, and laughed.

  "All right, Pip," she said; "I'll play you. Be down at the tee early andwe'll get off before the rush begins. As it is, I shall be driven intoall the time, playing with a duffer!"

  Pip, quite unmoved, parried
this insult with another.

  "Right-o," he said. "What shall I give you--a half?"

  Elsie smiled indulgently.

  "As a favour," she replied, "and to preserve your masculine pride, Iwill play you level. Otherwise----"

  Pip interrupted. He was not looking quite so serene as usual, and hepuffed almost nervously at his pipe.

  "What shall we play for?" he asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "In a match," he explained, "it is usual to play for some small stake--aball, or a bottle of----"

  "Nonsense!" said Elsie decidedly.

  "Not a bit; it's often done," said Pip. "What shall we play for?"

  "We shall play for love."

  "Love? Right!"

  There was an awkward pause. Technical terms lead one into such pitfalls.Elsie felt herself beginning to turn pink. Pip, who might have smoothedthe situation over, made it worse by saying,--

  "So it's to be a love-match?"

  There was no mistaking Elsie's colour now. A blush ran flaming over herface in a great scarlet wave. But Pip proceeded quite calmly,--

  "That's just what I want it to be. I'm glad you said that, though ofcourse you didn't mean it in that way. You are a good golfer. On yourday you can get round in, say, ninety. I am a rotter. I have only twicegot round under a hundred. If I play you level to-morrow and beat you,will you--marry me?"

  "_Pip!_"

  Elsie was sincere enough now. She was genuinely astounded. She knew Pipfor a man of blunt speech and direct methods, but she had hardly beenprepared for this. She merely turned from red to white, and repeated herastonished cry,--

  "_Pip!_"

  Pip continued, quite coolly now,--

  "Yes, I mean it. I have been in love with you from the first moment Isaw you, the afternoon that I took you to the Blanes' garden-party. Youremember?" The girl nodded gravely. "I was bowled over then, and I'veworshipped you ever since. I suppose you knew that? Women are alwayssaid to know these things. Did you know?"

  This was a long speech for Pip, but it drew no answer from Elsie.

  "Did you know?" he repeated gently.

  Elsie plucked a few bents from the sand around her and began to plaitthem with great care.

  "Did you know?" asked Pip for the third time.

  Elsie answered, without raising her eyes--

  "Yes--at least, lately. But you never gave yourself away, Pip."

  "I know that. I rather prided myself on it. I should have asked you longago, only after the Governor's death I had to--work for a living. It'sonly recently I have become a man with money. Besides, I think thesethings ought to be kept sacred, just between--between the two, you know.I haven't a very high opinion of myself, but I do think I can keep asecret. I wasn't going to have you talked about, even by friends.However"--he brought his gaze back from the distant horizon with aneffort--"we are wandering from the point. Will you play me a match,Elsie,--a love-match?"

  Elsie raised her eyes for the first time.

  "Pip, don't be absurd!"

  "Absurd? Not a bit. I think it's a jolly sensible notion. I simply can'ttalk the sort of rot that men in love are supposed to talk--it isn't inme. All I can do is to make you a fair offer like this--a sort ofchallenge to single combat, you know. If I win, you give in to me; ifyou win, well, I shall have to chuck it, that's all."

  "But Pip," said Elsie, "supposing I...."

  Then she checked herself suddenly, leaving Pip to wonder what she hadmeant to say. He himself could see no flaw in the scheme. His ownnatural modesty prevented him from believing that Elsie, gloriouscreature, could ever desire to take him of her own free will, andconsequently his simple mind had reverted to the primitive notion,inherent in most men, of marriage by conquest. His challenge to agolf-match struck him as an eminently sporting offer.

  "I figured it out this way," he went on after a pause. "I said tomyself, 'She will never marry me simply for the asking, of course';so--what did you say?"

  "Nothing." Elsie had suddenly ceased plaiting and parted her lips.

  "So," continued Pip, "I said, 'The only way to make her give in will beto get the better of her in something--to show superiority over her insome way. It will be no use my trying to persuade her by arguments. I'mslow of speech, especially with women, and Elsie would simply talk medownstairs and into the street in about two minutes. A girl like herwon't surrender without a struggle. Quite right too. I shall have totry something else. It mustn't be too one-sided either way, for if it'sin her favour I shall lose, and if it's in mine she won't accept. Itmust be a fair match.'"

  And so he continued, simply, honestly, laying bare to her all the mightyscheme whereby he proposed to overcome her stubborn resistance. He hadfirst thought, he told her, of a single-wicket cricket-match, but hadabandoned the project as being too greatly in his favour. "You keep avery straight bat for a girl," he said, "but you can never resist myslow curly one, that looks as if it were going to pitch outside the offstump, and doesn't. I know your weaknesses, you see," he added with afriendly smile.

  "Yes, Pip," said Elsie, in a rather subdued tone, "some of them."

  Pip then proceeded to enumerate the other tests of skill that hadoccurred to him. "I thought of croquet," he said, "but really croquet issuch d--Well, anyhow, I don't think croquet would have done. Billiardsis too fluky. Chess is piffle. There are lots of other games, but youare so--so weak!" (Elsie's slight frame stiffened indignantly at this.)"Then I thought of the golf-match, and I saw at once that that was theticket. So I packed up my bag and wired for rooms at the hotel here, andhave been waiting for you to arrive ever since the first of August."

  There was a pause--a long pause. Elsie was thinking--of what, she hardlyknew. Pip was watching her, anxious to see how she received his greatidea. Presently he continued,--

  "Of course the golf-match is all in your favour. The chances are aboutthree to one on your winning."

  Suddenly Elsie flared up with a curious little spirit of anger. Hermind, highly trained though it was in these matters, could not quiteappreciate Pip's Quixotic consideration for an opponent.

  "Pip," she said, "I don't believe you _want_ to win! The whole thing issimply a joke on your part--your idea of a joke. I don't think it's avery nice one: you know you can't beat me. If you really want to marryme you wouldn't--"

  "I shall beat you all right," said Pip simply.

  "Why?"

  "I know I shall, that's all."

  "Why?"

  "Because I _know_."

  A new idea occurred to Elsie.

  "You dare to insinuate," she said, "that I would--would purposely letyou--"

  "Should I want to marry a girl of that sort?" asked Pip gravely.

  Elsie softened again at this genuine compliment, but she still feltrather doubtful as to whether this extraordinary young man really andtruly believed that she was to be won, and won only, by being beaten ina golf-match. In any case the situation was becoming difficult. Shebegan to dust the sand from her skirt and to make other preparations fordeparture. Pip regarded her with some concern.

  "You're not going yet, are you?" he said.

  "Yes. It's getting late."

  "Well, will you play me?"

  "On those terms?"

  "Yes."

  "Of course not, Pip. You're not serious."

  Pip leaned forward, and put his hand on her arm. She had half risen, butshe now found herself sitting down again, rather astonished andrebellious, listening to what he was saying.

  "Elsie, what is the date to-morrow?"

  "I don't know," petulantly. "Girls never know dates."

  "I forgot that. Well, it is the fourteenth of August. Do you know whatis going to happen at Old Trafford to-morrow?"

  "Why--the Australians! Fancy forgetting a Test Match! That comes ofplaying golf all day. But, Pip,"--she stared at him in dismayedsurprise,--"why aren't you there? Surely you were chosen?"

  "Yes, I was chosen."

  "Then, why aren't you there?"

  "Beca
use I'm here."

  "But, Pip, you ought to be playing cricket."

  "I prefer to play golf."

  "But it's a Test Match."

  "I'm going to play in a Test Match of my own--here."

  Elsie was silent again, and gazed at him, open-eyed. Pip saw that he hadstruck the right note.

  "I gave up the cricket-match to play with you," he said. "Will you playwith me?"

  Elsie was defenceless against this appeal. She knew, better than mostgirls, perhaps, what it must cost a man to decline an invitation to playfor England.

  "All right, Pip," she said gently, getting up and shaking her skirt,"I'll play you. Nine o'clock to-morrow morning. I shall beat you,though," she added.

  Pip said nothing. It is always politic to make a virtue of necessity.That is why one allows a woman the last word.

  * * * * *

  They were very silent as they walked home in the twilight. Pip, havingachieved the object with which he had set out, had no further remarks tomake. Elsie seemed less at ease, and kept shooting half-amused,half-angry glances at the obtuse young man beside her. She objected tobeing treated as something between a Prehistoric Peep and a ScratchMedal.

  Presently they came to Raven Innes's cottage.

  "Are you coming in, Pip?" inquired Elsie as she stood at the door.

  "No, thanks. Raven would keep me up all hours, and I'm going to bed_very_ early. Good-night."

  "Pip--" began Elsie rather unsteadily.

  Pip turned quickly, and beheld her standing on the step, framed by theopen doorway. The setting sun glinted on her hair, and there was acurious and unfamiliar note in her voice as she addressed him.

  "Pip," she said, "I don't like the idea of this match. It's--it'scontrary to Nature, somehow. Golf wasn't intended to settle suchquestions."

  Pip made no reply, but gazed upon her. In matters of this kind he wasnot very "quick in the uptake," as they say in Scotland. Elsie made acurious little grimace to herself, and continued--

  "Pip, supposing you wanted, _very_ much, to get something that layacross a stream which looked rather deep, would you make a jump and riska ducking, or would you walk miles on the off-chance of finding abridge?"

  They looked at each other steadily for a minute, while Pip worked outthe answer to this conundrum.

  "I should probably jump," he replied,--"that is, if--"

  And then at last light seemed to break upon him. The blood surged to hisbrain, and he stepped forward impetuously.

  "Elsie!" he cried.

  But the door was shut.

  * * * * *

  "Serve him right, too!" you say. Well, perhaps; but lack of presumptionis a rare and not unmanly virtue.